Beautiful, beautiful writers! I’ve had the most astonishing week. Let me tell you all about it!
After spending several blissful hours with my Muse and my epic poem about President Polk, I decided to repeat Training Exercise #23 several times, for I am a firm believer in training exercises. I sought out the virile embrace of the Beastmaster, and did my best to improve my skills.
I felt as if I was making terrific progress! Everything was going swimmingly — when the door crashed open. It was Ethelie, and she was Very Unhappy. Oh, bother, just thinking about it makes me Capitalize as she does.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” I began. Even though it was exactly what it looked like, that’s just the sort of thing one’s obligated to say under the circumstances. But she wasn’t concerned about that.
Ethelie Does Not Approve of my Methods
“Pie?” she said, and I trembled, for I have never heard a single word carry so much scorn and derision. “Pie?” she repeated. She loomed over me, stern and unforgiving. I tried to be brave, truly I did, but it was all I could do to keep myself from pulling the covers up over my head.
It was dreadful.
“Leave,” she said to the Beastmaster, and even he was not brave enough to defy her — in his own quarters!
She was dreadful, and now I was alone with her. I was trembling (and not in a delicious way!), and Ethelie did not disappoint. I will spare you, lovelies, and not share all her words with you. Suffice it to say that Ethelie was not pleased that I offered pie and encouragement last week, instead of threats and lamentations. She explained her point of view, vehemently, for almost forty-five minutes before she started to wind down. It was as if the steel rod up her, ah, spine turned to taffy and softened in the white-hot heat of her rage.
She summoned the last of her venom for her parting admonition. “You will never write like that again,” she said, glaring with her basilisk-eyes. Then she slammed the door behind her, and I was alone.
I wept, beauties, I do not mind telling you. For though she was no longer with me, her cruel words still echoed in my head, and it was almost as if she still loomed over me, saying all those horrid things!
I spent the rest of the weekend wandering forlornly about the Directorate headquarters, devastated. I would never be able to write anything ever again, I was sure, after being so forcefully silenced. Oh, how I wept. I was inconsolable.
Or so I thought.
In Which I Am Consoled Despite Myself, and Find My Voice Again
Sunday night, I found myself wandering miserably about the conservatory, dreaming of happier days. I considered getting in my zeppelin and flying away from the Directorate; but I knew Ethelie’s words would stay with me, no matter how far and fast I flew! All I could do, it seemed, was mope about and feel dismal.
My morose musings were interrupted by Boggins, the janitor. We’d once been close, and I found our old closeness rekindling. I poured out my woes, and he listened patiently as he waxed and polished the floor.
“And so,” I concluded, weeping bitter tears, “that vicious old woman’s cruel words have silenced me! I can no longer write!”
Boggins looked up from his work, and shrugged. “Screw her,” he said.
My goodness. That was all it took: Boggins broke Ethelie’s devastating spell. I felt my perspective shift deliciously, and once again the world was fresh and new!
“Boggins!” I cried. “Thank you! thank you!” I kissed him, and ran off, for I had work to do.
A Visit to Ethelie
But before I could return to my poem about President Polk, I knew I had to take steps to protect myself from Ethelie. Oh, yes, in that instant I felt invincible, but what would happen the next time Ethelie chastized me? I knew I would curl up in a little ball and weep again. I am not yet strong enough to withstand her — but I will be.
So I did the only thing I could think of to buy myself more time: I crept into her room while she was at dinner, and left a freshly-opened bottle of laudanum on her nightstand! I knew she would not be able to resist its siren call — and I knew it would bring on a relapse of her “exhaustion.” It worked, and Ethelie is once again “resting” in the Infirmary, and I am free to write! Exquisite!
My angels, my beauties: I know you may judge me for my actions; but I did what I had to do to protect myself, and find my voice again. I could not let her silence me!
Tell me in the comments: who has silenced you? How did you overcome it? What can you do this week to find your voice again?
And pie! We shall have pie! I am so excited.